The blood-stained thread of Fate
by angelofthelightanddark
Summary: The Siege is broken, and Liriel's past still clings to her, still binds her to Winter. In the shadows of Klurikon, beneath the darkened trees, a piece of that past finds her again.


Liriel stares out over the fortress, leaning against the worn stone, weariness heavy in her bones.

The siege is broken and Tilera is dead. Liriel can see her balefire from here, the smoke winding into the early morning light, flames leaping high, lances of red and orange touching the grey sky.

Against her heart, her totem is humming gently, soothing the ache at Tilera's loss. Liriel hadn't had time to know her well, but she was a good woman, devoted to her people even as she'd been banished.

The world is lesser for the loss of Tilera Balor-Slayer.

The walls of Mel Senshir are to be rebuilt, Liriel has heard, and renamed after the fallen general, a testament to her courage and bravery in the face of the Tuatha.

Liriel pushes off the wall, slinging her pack over her shoulder. They are heading into Klurikon soon, and she aches to travel the dusky roads, to find that which is nearest to her heart in all things.

The totem hums again-

 _-the siege is broken, the Balor falls, Tuatha are routed, after them! Leave none alive!-_

The feeling of satisfied vengeance sits like an anchor in her breast, warm in the chill of morning. Liriel wants nothing more than to run, to chase this feeling, to find the being born of Winter who calls to her even now.

But she stills herself, waiting. She can be patient.

In the end, she doesn't have to look far, just beyond the gates, into Klurikon's grey lands, under the shadows of the leaning, blackened trees, she sees a slim figure, clad in dark armor, and-

 _-pale hair, eyes of silvery blue watching her, slender fingers, a sharp smile, 'Such a strange child of Dust,' he murmurs watching her, his gaze a physical weight across her shoulders as she sharpens her sword._

 _'Strange?' she quips, not moving as a shadow falls across her and those slender fingers still the hand that holds the whetstone._

 _'Quite,' he says, lifting her chin with his free hand._

 _'Strange enough to have caught your attention?' she asks. He's as keen as the faeblades he wields with deadly accuracy; she's not surprised that he's been investigating her and her mission._

 _'Yes,' he says. 'Among other things.'_

 _Liriel smiles. 'You are being rather forward, Cydan.'_

 _'Your lives are short,' Cydan says in explanation._

 _Liriel sets aside her sword and whetstone, beckoning the Fae closer._

 _'I do like such bluntness,' she murmurs, tilting her head back so Cydan can kiss her._

 _It's so easy after that, as if they had been lovers for years, a familiarity that delights her-_

Liriel blinks at the touch of a hand on her cheek, breaking the reverie.

"How odd," he murmurs, "That such a mortal should return despite their body being burnt to cinders."

His tone is soft, but Liriel knows this Prince of Outcasts, of Sorrows, too well, and can detect the steel beneath the quiet.

"Fate works in the strangest of ways, Cydan," she says. "You know this."

"For mortals, perhaps," he says, "For Fae do not walk the road of living but the once."

Liriel fumbles for her breastplate and pulls the totem free, offers it up as proof to this Fae who had gifted it to her once upon a lifetime.

The sharp coldness of his eyes softens, nearly melts as his fingers touch the totem which sings a bright, merry welcome at his caress.

"Ah," he says quietly. "Welcome then, Liriel, Siege Breaker. Our hearth is yours for as long as you dwell here."

"Thank you, Cydan," Liriel says. "I am honored."

Cydan folds her fingers about the totem, raising her fist to his lips. "You walk among us again," he whispers. "I could ask for no greater a gift, save the defeat of Gadflow himself."

"Well," Liriel says, flushing. "We're working on that too."

"As long as it does not end in your death," Cydan replies, "then I will be happy."

Liriel nods, stepping closer, deeper into Cydan's space, tilting her head up.

He looks no older than he had the last time she remembers him, a bright-eyed warrior with a thirst to drive the Tuatha from the Court that rightfully belonged to the Winter Fae.

"I missed you," she says.

"And I you," Cydan admits, his forehead resting against hers. His skin is cooler than hers, a gentle chill barely warmer than the air around them.

And just like before, Liriel is smiling when he kisses her at last.


End file.
